


Festive Snapshots

by Whisper91



Series: Festive Fics [1]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Christmas Fluff, Gymnast Eggsy, Kid Eggsy, M/M, Puppies, Vet Eggsy, alternative universes, each chapter is set in a different universe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-10
Updated: 2016-12-15
Packaged: 2018-09-07 13:42:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8803060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whisper91/pseuds/Whisper91
Summary: A selection of Christmas/winter-themed snapshots spanning across various alternative universes. Additional scenes/universes can be catered to upon request.Chapter 1 - Be Wary Underfoot (Hartwin, gymnast!Eggsy)Chapter 2 - Deck the Halls With Choking Hazards (Merwin/Merhartwin, vet!Eggsy)Chapter 3 - Snow Days of Yesteryear (Lee/Michelle, kid!Eggsy)A brief glimpse at a happier moment from Eggsy's childhood. (Lee/Michelle, kid!Eggsy)





	1. Be Wary Underfoot (Hartwin, Gymnastics AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set in a universe where Lee never died and Eggsy is a competitive gymnast.

.

It’s early enough that the park is mostly empty except for a small handful of dogs and their owners milling about here and there. Eggsy lets JB off the lead and reaches into his coat pocket for the pup’s red ball, tossing it out across the open, grassy area and shifting briskly from foot to foot in an effort to keep warm.

It’s absolutely _frigid_ this morning, his breath frosting in the air around him, fingers and toes tingling from the cold despite wearing gloves and thick socks. It’s gonna have to be a fairly short walk today; his coach will absolutely gut him if he catches a cold and ends up skipping training.

“Come on, love!” he calls, clapping his gloved hands together to get the pup’s attention. “Bring it back, then!”

JB glances up sharply, red ball in his mouth, and comes bounding back across the pitch at full speed, although his trajectory takes him wide, zooming straight past Eggsy and up towards the path. The youth huffs out a laugh and jogs after him, frosty grass crunching beneath his trainers.

“Oi! Where you goin’?” Eggsy slows his pace when he reaches the path, conscious of the glistening sheen that coats the paved area. “JB, come back ‘ere!”

A sudden streak of black fur darts out directly in front of him, and Eggsy skids to a halt to avoid bowling the small dog over – only he _keeps on_ skidding, and his stomach gives an unpleasant swoop as his body twists to the side, his ankle with it, and the ground rushes up to meet up.

Countless years of competitive gymnastics training have helped him grow accustomed to falling, but the moment of impact remains horribly unpleasant, knocking the breath from his lungs as he twists further to take the brunt of the fall on his hip and side rather than his coccyx (eight weeks spent sitting on an inflatable ring was long enough, thank you).

“Goodness, are you alright?”

A pair of nice-looking shoes appear in his line of vision, and he follows the smart suit-trousers upwards, taking in the stylish winter coat and leather gloves at a glance before his gaze locks with a pair of soft brown eyes, and his stomach gives an entirely different kind of swoop.

“That was quite a fall, dear boy,” the gentlemen sympathises, lowering himself to a crouch. “I’m terribly sorry – Mr Pickle has a bad habit of dashing out in front of people like that.”

“S’alright,” Eggsy reassures with an easy (albeit wincing) smile, carefully pushing himself into an upright sitting position and taking stock of the damage – nothing broken or bent, as far as he can tell. His side will be bruised like a peach by tomorrow, but he’ll live. “It’s this bloody ice, innit? Would’ve happened to me eventually.”

The man returns his smile, and offers Eggsy a gloved hand. “Here, let me help you.”

“Ta, bruv.” Eggsy grasps it with his own, and allows the stranger to help lever him upright, although as his body weight settles on his right foot a sharp, throbbing pain flares to life in his ankle. “Ahh!”

He goes crashing back onto his arse, swearing up a blue storm as his free hand goes to clutch at the joint, pain radiating up his shin and down into his foot. A black, fluffy head appears beside him, the little terrier sniffing at the leg of his tracksuit bottoms curiously, tail wagging.

“Is it your ankle, darling?” the stranger presses, his voice brimming with concern, his handsome features creased into a worried frown as he leans over Eggsy to inspect the limb.

“Must’ve twisted it when I slipped,” the youth grits out, the sharp pain slow to fade even now that he’s not putting weight on it. “S’just a sprain, I’ll be alright in a bit.”

Although Lord knows how he’s gonna manage the mile-long walk back home without aggravating the injury.

The older man appears doubtful of Eggsy’s self-diagnosis. “Would you mind if I take a look? I have a certain degree of experience in the medical field.”

Truth be told, Eggsy wouldn’t consciously deny this man anything, not with a face as gorgeous as that. And those _eyes,_ God, and that low, soothing voice…he ain’t gonna say no to the promise of a quick feel-up.

“Now, we can’t just leave you sitting here on the cold, hard ground,” the gent murmurs, seemingly more to himself than to Eggsy. He glances a little ways up the path and his expression brightens into. “Ah, just the ticket. If you’ll permit me….?”

He makes a vague gesture with his arms that Eggsy interprets as an offer to help him to his feet, and the youth nods readily ( _more_ than readily, _take me now_ ), only to utter a _meep_ of surprise when he’s abruptly swept up into the man’s arms (holy _shit,_ he’s strong) and carried further along the path to the bench up ahead, set down there with all due care.

JB, who’s apparently noticed his master’s absence at last, reappears beside the bench, hopping up onto his hind legs and bracing his forepaws against Eggsy’s knee, head cocked to one side quizzically as he huffs and wheezes around the red ball in his mouth.

“M’alright,” he reassures the pup, scratching behind JB’s ears. “It’s just my a-aah!”

“Sorry, poppet,” the handsome stranger apologises with a wince, glancing up from where he’s knelt in front of the bench, carefully working Eggsy’s unlaced trainer off his foot. “This won’t take a moment.” Off comes his sock, and the cold air makes the pale skin of his ankle tingle. “Here, point your toes towards me, if you can.”

Biting his lip, the joint sore but no longer throbbing quite so painfully, Eggsy obligingly performs a series of short, simple flexes under the man’s supervision, heart fluttering rapidly beneath his breastbone as the leather gloves come off and long, warm fingers gently palpate the area, the man’s face utterly serious as he concentrates on his task. Eggsy’s face heats, and he’s glad it’s so cold because the blush is mostly disguised by the rosiness already sitting in his cheeks.

“You a doctor or somethin’?” he manages after a brief pause (unsticking his tongue from the roof of his mouth takes a moment).

The man breathes a quiet laugh and shakes his head, eyes alight with mirth when he glance up. “I suppose you might call me a field medic, of sorts.” He offers his hand with a friendly smile. “Harry Hart.”

“Eggsy,” the youth returns as he grips it in a brief handshake, deliberately leaving off his last name.

It isn’t that he mistrusts the man, but people tend to recognise the name ‘Unwin’ (there aren’t a lot of Olympic gold medallists with that surname), and he’d prefer that Harry get to know him the old-fashioned way; he wants the man to like him for his personality, not his gymnastic achievements.

“A pleasure.” Harry gently lowers his foot back to the ground and sits back on his heels. “Well, it doesn’t appear to be broken, but it’s already swelling rather badly. Do you live nearby?”

Eggsy shakes his head, raking his fingers through his hair as he grimaces, ankle twinging at the slightest movement. “It’s a good half hour’s walk from here,” he confesses, already running through a mental list of people that he might be able to call to come pick him up.

Roxy would usually be his first port of call, but she’s away with her uncle overseas for the next two weeks, so it’ll be no use ringing her for a lift. Charlie’s gone home to visit his parents in Oxford for the Christmas hols, otherwise he would’ve been Eggsy’s second choice, and he doubts either Ryan or Jamal will be keen to answer their phones at stupid-o’clock in the morning after working the late shift at Tescos, so there’s no point even trying.

“Then please, allow me to invite you home with me,” Harry offers quietly. “It’s only just around the corner, a few minutes from here at most. I’d prefer to see that ankle iced and elevated sooner rather than later, before the swelling worsens.”

Eggsy feels his face heat further, thawing out the chill in his cheeks. “I really appreciate the offer, bruv, but you don’t have. I don’t wanna be a bother-”

“Not at all,” the man dismisses, with a warm smile. “Mr Pickle and I would be glad of the company, I’m sure. Wouldn’t we, darling?”

The fluffy terrier yips in apparent agreement, dashing in dizzying circles around his owner.

Utterly won over by the man’s effortless charm and sheer, unspoiled _adorableness_ , Eggsy finds his next protest dying before it parts his lips.

“Alright then,” he agrees cheerfully, grinning. “Ta, mate. As long as you’re sure?”

“Absolutely positive. Come on, up we go.”

Harry loops one of Eggsy’s arms over his shoulders and helps lever him to his feet, and the two begin to carefully make their way back up the path, a huffing pug and an excitable terrier scampering along at their heels.

 

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Let me know if you have any requests <3 xxxx


	2. Deck the Halls With Choking Hazards (Merwin/Merhartwin, vet!Eggsy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mr Pickle has a propensity for eating things that he shouldn't. Veterinary-nurse Eggsy just wants to adopt all the puppies. Alternatively, how-the-trio-got-together (and learned to keep the decorations out of reach).

 

.

 

 

“Uno,” Roxy warns, eyes glinting at them from behind her singular card. “Eat shit, Hesketh. Blue please, Eggsy.”

Charlie huffs out a sigh of exasperation from behind his own ample fan of thirteen cards, reluctantly reaching out to take another four from the waiting pile on the table. Roxy grins at him with the righteous glee of someone who’s somehow managed to end up with all the pick-up-fours in a single hand. _Again._

“Next Christmas, we’re playing snakes and ladders,” Charlie grouches, and nudges Eggsy’s foot with the toe of his Crocs beneath the table. “Come on, Unwin, avenge me.”

Shovelling in forkful of tikka masala into his mouth with his left hand, Eggsy surveys his options, pausing in his absent petting of the tiny pug puppy curled up in his lap. After a moment of deliberation, he tosses a blue pick-up-two onto the pile.

“Justice!” Charlie hisses, although his vicious delight is short-lived. The man’s watch beeps twice, and he immediately puts down his cards, takes a hurried bite of naan bread, and pushes his chair back from the table. “Duty calls. Won’t be a sec. Eggsy, do _not_ let her cheat.”

Roxy clutches a hand to her chest and feigns offence at the accusation, but the old tabby cat draped around her neck like a particularly fluffy scarf somewhat lessens its effect.

“Has it been two hours already?” Eggsy asks, glancing towards the clock on the wall of the break room.

“Mm. Time flies when you’re having fun,” the other man drawls.

Roxy grins at him around a bite of aloo gobi. “You’re such a sore loser.”

Flipping her the bird, Charlie crosses over to the shoebox perched on the countertop on the other side of the break room. Removing the lid, he reaches inside to carefully scoop up the days-old kitten from its nest of warmed blankets, cradling the tiny ball of black and white fluff against his scrub top. “Come on, Felix.”

Roxy almost spits out her mouthful of potato. “You are _not_ naming him that.”

“Dunno, mate, Charlie’s got a point,” Eggsy reasons, leaning across the table to pinch a bit of the man’s naan while he’s suitably distracted. “Looks just like the cat from the adverts, dunnit?”

“But it’s so _unoriginal,”_ she gripes, as Charlie pointedly ignores her, busy syringing up a measure of milk from the bottle-warmer plugged in at the wall there.

“Want me to put a card down for you?” Eggsy offers, a knowing sort of smile twitching at his lips.

Charlie bends down to fish a rubber feeding tip out of one of the bottom cupboards, facing away from him, but Eggsy can hear his frown well enough without needing to see it.

“Don’t you _dare,_ Unwin. _”_

He laughs outright at that, but feels a twinge of guilt for it when the puppy in his lap jolts awake with a whimpering yip, gazing around blearily. He quickly sets down his cards and pushes his takeaway container aside so that he can recline a little in his chair, drawing the pug up to settle on his chest.

“Sorry, darlin’,” he murmurs, stroking two fingers tenderly over the tiny head and velvety ears. “Shh, you’re okay, JB.”

“Oh God,” Roxy moans. “You named him. I _told_ you not to name him, you know your landlord won’t let you keep pets. You’re as bad as Charlie.”

“Who says I’m not keeping Felix?” the other man retorts calmly, reclaiming his seat with the blanket-wrapped kitten cradled in one arm and the syringe of milk in the other.

“Me,” she answers firmly, although her doting expression as she reaches across to gently stroke the kitten’s fluffy head belies her words. “We already have three cats, we don’t need another one.”

Eggsy ducks his head to press a kiss to the pug’s fur in an effort to hide his grin. Last winter when he’d first started working at the Kensington Animal Clinic as a newly qualified veterinary nurse, he never would’ve pegged Charlie and Roxy as compatible in the romantic sense - the two had fought, for lack of a better phrase, like cats and dogs for the first few weeks, before Charlie’s usual veterinary assistant had gone off on mat-leave and Roxy had been swapped from the elective surgery list to help cover clinics. Apparently they’d admired each other’s professional skills enough to learn how to get along, because they’d started dating soon after that. It’s been six months since they moved in together; Eggsy’s expecting to see an engagement ring any day now.

“What’s it stand for, anyway?” Charlie asks, his attention still focused on the kitten as he feeds it from the syringe. “Jason Bourne?”

The younger man grins and shakes his head, letting JB nibble on his fingers. “Nah, bruv – Jack Bauer. Dude’s a fighter, just like this little guy.”

The pug had been in a pretty bad shape when he’d first turned up on their doorstep, dehydrated and hypothermic and well on his way to developing septic shock from an infected cut on his thigh. He’d been found at the bottom of a skip on a construction site a few miles away, and the builders who’d brought him in hadn’t any idea how he could’ve gotten there by accident. It makes Eggsy feel _sick_ with anger to think about it; how anyone could be so heartless as to throw away such a tiny, innocent creature is beyond him.

It had been touch and go those first few nights while they’d desperately tried to get antibiotics and fluids and nutrients into the pup, and it was only yesterday morning that JB was deemed strong enough to undergo minor surgery on his leg to properly suture the deep gash. They won’t be able to tell if the injury’s had any lasting effects until the pup starts growing, but so far JB’s showing good signs of recovery. Another week of intravenous antibiotics and dressing changes, and the pup will be ready to go off to the nearby shelter to find a new home.

He’s trying his best not to think about that part. Eggsy’s had to say goodbye to a whole host of fluffy companions these past twelve months, and during his long years of veterinary training, but JB’s nestled his way into his heart quite effectively; he’s reluctant to see the pup go to another home after nursing him back to health this past week. To the extent, in fact, that he’s even begun perusing the housing market to see if there’s anything he can afford to rent within a commutable distance from the clinic. Unfortunately, it being Kensington, everything’s fucking expensive. Charlie and Roxy are lucky enough to have well-off relatives who live fairly close by (the cosy home they’re currently living in used to belong to Charlie’s grandmother, apparently), and while they’ve both offered him the spare room and study on the third floor, he’d rather not play third wheel to the happy couple 24/7; it’s bad enough when they hang out together outside of work.

Eggsy’s mum and dad live right over on the other side of London, and while they’d probably _love_ to have him move back home into his old bedroom, the journey to and from the clinic just woudn’t be manageable, not with the odd hours Eggsy works. Plus there’s the fact that he’s often on call over the weekends, and if there’s an emergency he’s supposed to be there within half an hour…yeah, no. It just wouldn’t work out.

He’s even considered flatsharing, or becoming someone’s lodger until he’s saved up enough to get his own place, but that still presents the issue of owning a pet – not a lot of flatmates/landlords would approve of him having a dog around the house, especially a puppy who’s liable to take a shit in places he shouldn’t.

The chime from the intercom at the front entrance startles him from his musings, and all three of them glance at each other.

“Bet you a tenner it’s ruddy carollers again,” Charlie mutters, returning his attention to Felix.

Eggsy grins and carefully sets JB down in the towel-lined basket beneath the table. “You’re on. Roxy, you gonna risk it for a biscuit?”

She deliberates for a moment, glancing down at her watch. “It’s almost midnight,” she reasons. “A little late for carollers.”

Charlie huffs a quiet breath of laughter. “Unless they’re totally sloshed, like the last lot.”

She reaches over to smack his arm, but she’s grinning. “I’m betting it’s either a paranoid owner freaking out because their dog has the shits,” she muses. “Or someone’s run over a hedgehog and needs to confess.”

Eggsy snorts, already on his way out the door, and jumps a little when the intercom chimes a second time.

“Alright, alright, I’m comin’,” he mutters, heading down the short corridor and over to the semi-circular reception desk at the front of the large waiting room, squinting at the CCTV monitor beside the computer screen. “Well, it’s not carollers! You owe me ten quid, Charlie.”

There’s a man standing there, dressed rather foolishly for this time of year in what looks like a white button-down shirt and dark trousers; no coat, no jacket, no nothing. He’s peering up at the camera with a rather frantic expression, the sort of panicked look that makes Eggsy’s stomach twist uncomfortably in a foreboding sort of way, and in his arms he’s cradling a small animal close to his chest. An animal that seems to be laying alarmingly still.

He snatches up the telephone quickly, pulse already quickening.

“Hello, can I help you?”

_“Oh, thank God.”_ The man sounds slightly breathless, and his voice is ragged with raw emotion. _“Please, it’s my dog, there’s something terribly wrong with him-”_

Eggsy’s hitting the access switch before the man can finish his sentence, rounding the desk in a few brisk strides as he hears the sliding door _whoosh_ open, and hurries to meet the man as he rushes in through the entryway. The waiting room lights are dimmed (because they so rarely get clients at this time of night, especially with it being so close to Christmas), but Eggsy can see clear as day that the little black-furred terrier in the man’s arms is in a bad way.

It’s still breathing, thank God, but it hangs limply in the man’s hold, and its grossly distended abdomen has Eggsy’s mind immediately considering the possibility of a gastric obstruction or a twisted bowel. The dog’s breathing is erratic, with a wheezy sort of huff tagged onto the end of every other sighing exhale. Its tongue keeps poking out in a half-retch every few seconds, at which point the terrier will give a high-pitched, pained whine that tapers off in another wheeze. It’s a sound that Eggsy never likes to hear; clearly things are pretty fucking dire.

“Charlie!” he yells over his shoulder, and moves to gently take the dog from its owner’s arms, wincing at its floppy tone. Eggsy turns to jog towards the nearest clinic room. “What’s his name, Mr…?”

“Hart,” the gentleman replies, hurrying to follow him. “Harry Hart. This is Mr Pickle.”

Under the brighter examination lights, the sheer size of the dog’s abdomen becomes all the more obvious, and Eggsy hears Roxy’s sharp, startled inhale as the woman pauses at the threshold of the room, then quickly moves through the adjoining double doors to the small operating theatre beyond, presumably to start prepping the necessary equipment.

“What happened?” Charlie asks, all calm professionalism as he gently feels along the terrier’s side and underbelly, wincing when the dog lets out a louder, yelping wheeze.

“I…I’m not sure.” Harry rakes a hand through his dark brown hair, rumpling the styled locks, and Eggsy’s eyes are caught by the raised pinkish-white patch of an old scar at his hairline near his temple, previously hidden by his fringe. “He was fine when I popped out earlier today; I only returned home from the office a short while ago, and I found him just lying there in the hallway. He’s always been such an energetic dog, this really isn’t like him at all.”

Eggsy settles a comforting hand on the man’s arm, steering him a little to one side to keep him from crowding too close to the examination table as the veterinarian works, Charlie’s eyes unfocused as he concentrates on listening to the dog’s bowel sounds through his stethoscope.

“I’m going to give him something for the pain,” Charlie says after a few moments, his fingers stroking gently over the terrier’s dark fur as he finally glances back up towards the older man. “And then I’d like to do an x-ray of his abdomen, if that’s alright with you?”

“Yes, of course, whatever you think is best,” Harry agrees quickly, his voice a little faint as he stares at his dog fretfully. “Do you know what’s wrong with him?”

“At the moment, my suspicion is that he’s got an obstruction,” the vet answers calmly. “These things can occur on their own, but more often than not it’s a foreign body or, less commonly, as the result of an infection. The x-ray should give us a better idea of what we’re dealing with.”

“We’ll need to step out for a mo,” Eggsy says gently, giving the man’s arm another squeeze and guiding him towards the door as Charlie calls for Roxy to wheel in the portable x-ray machine. “Don’t worry, Mr Hart, your dog’s in good hands. Let’s go an’ have a sit down for a minute, yeah?”

He ought to have steered Harry back towards the waiting area, but the room seems too barren and cold and _clinical_ all of a sudden, and it’s nearly Christmas after all…so instead he leads the man into the staff breakroom and over to the table.

“Sorry, excuse the mess,” he says, sweeping up the cards from their abandoned Uno game and putting them away in their box for another time. He clicks the lids back onto the Tupperware boxes of Indian food and moves to slot them into the fridge to be reheated later on. “Fancy a cuppa?”

Harry gives him an exhausted but genuinely grateful smile. “Please.”

Taking down two mugs from one of the overhead cupboards, he drops a teabag into each and flicks on the kettle.

“Bit mean of your employers, keeping you at work so late,” he comments, in an effort to distract Harry from the situation at hand. “Thought Christmas Eve was considered a bank holiday across the board?”

“Something came up rather urgently,” the man answers after a brief pause. “I suppose you might say that I’m on-call during the holiday season. Normally my partner or I would bring Mr Pickle to work with us, but I wasn’t supposed to be gone more than a few hours, and he’s rather accustomed to being left in the house unsupervised for short periods of time. He’s always so wonderfully behaved.”

The man looks close to tears all over again, and it wrenches at Eggsy’s heart to see it, an aching lump forming in his throat as he swallows hard. Struck by a sudden need to comfort him, but conscious of respecting personal boundaries, Eggsy crosses over to the table and crouches down quickly, reaching for the towel-padded basket underneath and gently lifting out the sleeping pug puppy from its cosy nest within the fabric folds.

“It’s gettin’ a bit cold in here,” he murmurs, offering the tiny squirming pup to Harry. “You alright to hold JB for a minute while I go fiddle with the thermostat?”

Harry takes the pug from him without hesitation, drawing it close to his chest and accepting the towel that Eggsy passes to him, wrapping it around the puppy with all due care. The youth has to fight the urge to grin in satisfaction – he can’t give Harry a proper hug like he wants to, but a puppy is the next best thing.

“How old is it?” the man asks, his voice hushed as he stares down at his precious burden.

“Don’t know for sure,” Eggsy answers, adjusting the temperature a couple of degrees higher before moving back over to the kettle. “His eyes hadn’t opened yet when he first came to us, so he can’t be older than a few weeks.”

The man makes a quiet noise in the back of his throat, and Eggsy smiles softly. That had been his reaction, too, the first time he’d cradled JB in his arms during that horribly long nightshift last week, where none of them had thought the pup would make it.

The kettle clicks off the boil, and Eggsy pours scalding water into both mugs. “Milk?” he queries. “Sugar?”

“Just a dash of milk, please.” Harry graces him with another small, tired smile when Eggsy brings the tea over to the table, reaching out to wrap the fingers of his free hand around the steaming mug. “You’re an angel, thank you.”

He knows it isn’t dignified to blush at so casual an expression, but it’s not like he has any control over the way his body chooses to react. Harry’s fucking _handsome_ (Eggsy has fairly high standards when it comes to crushes, so he doesn’t say that lightly), and the fact that he’s polite and sweet-natured and clearly adores puppies to boot? It’s little wonder his heart’s gone all fluttery.

But Eggsy’s also a professional, and takes his job bloody seriously, so he resolutely clamps down on the impulse to throw back a flirtatious reply ( _“takes one to know one, guv”_ springs to mind) and curls his hands around his own mug as he takes a seat beside the man.

“I must confess,” Harry says after a long beat of silence, staring down at his untouched tea, “I feared I’d find the clinic unoccupied, it being Christmas Eve and all. I take it you drew the short straw this year?”

Eggsy huffs out a quiet laugh over the rim of his own mug and shakes his head a little. “Nah, bruv, I volunteered. There’s plenty of people with big families who need to do all that last-minute rushin’ around. I did my shoppin’ weeks ago; all I need to do tomorrow mornin’ is swing by my flat an’ pick up the presents – should make it home in time to see my sister wakin’ up.”

His smile widens at the thought; she’ll be turning six this year, so her appreciation of Christmas (and all the magic therein) is at its peak. His dad has been taking a break from work after that car accident in Brussels last month, so the house looks like a veritable winter wonderland, and Lee’s all set for playing Father Christmas for the first time in years. He hasn’t donned that stupid fucking costume since Eggsy was a kid (his Mum’s promised to take pictures).

“How about you?” he asks. “Busy day planned for tomorrow?”

“God, no.” Harry’s smile turns a little wistful as he takes a careful sip of tea. “My office work has become rather…demanding, of late. Simply indulging in the luxury of a full day of rest would be a blessing, and my husband-”

The man abruptly falls silent, eyes widening marginally, before setting his mug down so quickly that a drop of tea splashes over the rim. “Oh _Christ,_ I never even told him about…and he’ll be getting home soon, too.”

He reaches up to his glasses, perhaps to remove them, but his hand freezes before his fingers can touch the frames, his gaze flitting across to Eggsy as though suddenly recalling his presence. He immediately drops his hand again, clearing his throat softly and instead fishing his phone from his pocket. His behaviour is somewhat baffling, but Eggsy’s distracted from it by a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye, and he glances towards the breakroom doorway to see a grim-faced Charlie beckoning to him.

“S’cuse me, guv,” he murmurs as an uneasy sort of feeling settles in his stomach, pushing his chair back from the table as Harry presses his phone to his ear. “Won’t be a sec.”

Out in the privacy of the hallway, he leans in close to Charlie and lowers his voice to a murmur.

“Not good?”

Charlie shakes his head, lips pressed together as he heaves a sigh through his nose. “The x-ray’s troubling,” he answers after a short beat. “There’s definitely a foreign body in there; perhaps more than one. I need you to walk Mr Hart through signing a consent form for open bowel surgery and a gastric lavage.”

A familiar ache lodges itself beneath Eggsy’s sternum, the way it always does when the animals under his care take a turn for the worse.

“Do you think it’s perforated?”

The vet sighs again, looking equally as pained, and claps Eggsy on the shoulder. “Let’s hope not. Will you be alright manning the fort while we’re in theatre?”

Eggsy nods. “Yeah, bruv, course. But give me a shout if you need another pair of hands, yeah?”

When Charlie heads back towards the clinic room, Eggsy takes a moment to collect himself, permitting more time than is perhaps necessary in fetching the necessary consent documentation from the filing cabinet at the reception desk, trying to push past the wall of gloomy apprehension and build himself back up to a more positive outlook. _The pup’s going to be fine. He’s in good hands._

Harry glances up towards him when he steps back into the breakroom, mobile phone in hand, clearly having just finished talking to his husband. The man’s tired smile falters when he sees Eggsy’s face, and even though the youth’s certain he’s fixed a calm, neutral, client-friendly expression in place, Hart is apparently able to see straight through it.

“What is it?” Harry asks, his concern mounting visibly. “What’s happened?”

Heart clenching in sympathy, Eggsy moves to take a seat beside him, resting his hand gently atop Harry’s forearm where it rests on the table, and proceeds to have the most difficult conversation of his career so far.

 

 

 

… … … … … …

 

 

 

“Mornin’, beautiful,” Eggsy greets cheerfully, and presses his hand against the bars of the cage, grinning as the terrier licks at his fingers excitedly. “Ready to get out of here?”

Mr Pickle yips in agreement, tail wagging excitedly, but obligingly sits still when Eggsy tells him to and waits until the youth has opened the cage door before bouncing up again, shifting from paw to paw in anticipation until he’s scooped up.

“You wanna go say goodbye to everyone?” he asks, straightening up with the pup in his arms, holding the dog carefully so as not to put pressure its bandaged underbelly. “Yeah? Come on then.”

The terrier has become a fast favourite among the staff at the Kensington Animal Clinic during its short three-day stay. Eggsy’s never met a more well-behaved pooch, and Mr Pickle’s so readily affectionate that there hasn’t been a single employee so far who’s passed up on the opportunity to have a cuddle with him at some point or another.

“Off home already?” Roxy asks, glancing up from the equipment she’s putting in the steriliser, and quickly strips off her gloves and anti-bacs her hands so that she can come and fuss over the terrier. “Aw, get better soon, sweetheart. God, you’re so fucking _cute._ ”

Mr Pickle seems to agree, tail wagging hard against Eggy’s arm as the pup works to smother her hand and wrist in wet kisses.

“Eggsy?” a voice calls, and he glances up towards where Amelia, their daytime receptionist, has poked her head into the recovery suite. “Mr Hart’s here. Shall I tell him you’ll be out in a moment?”

He flashes her a smile. “Please. Ta, love.”

With a sigh, he carefully turns Mr Pickle in his arms so that the terrier is looking up at him. “Well, I guess this is goodbye, darlin’,” he says softly. “S’been ace lookin’ after you, but I don’t wanna see you back here anytime soon, yeah?”

“He still has weekly check-ups until those wounds have healed,” Charlie reminds him cheerfully, reaching out to scratch the terrier behind the ears as he walks past, Felix’s tiny black and white head poking out of the top pocket of his scrubs. “I’m afraid he won’t be escaping your ugly mug quite that easily.”

“Piss off,” Eggsy retorts, but he’s grinning as he carries the dog further down the corridor and towards the waiting room.

There are a few people still waiting to be seen, two with cat carriers in their laps and one with a towel-covered bird cage, but Eggsy has barely stepped over the threshold before a figure on the far side of the room is surging to his feet with a delighted cry, and the small terrier in his arms goes absolutely _bonkers._ Eggsy’s forced to stoop down quickly and let the dog free before Mr Pickle ends up taking a headfirst dive onto the tiled floor.

“Oh darling, _hello,”_ Harry greets, dropping to his knees without any care for his fancy-looking bespoke suit, the smile on his face so wide that his cheeks must ache from it. “ _Hello_ , my little love. Merlin and I have been so worried about you. Don’t you _ever_ frighten us like that again, do you hear me? Oh, just look at those bandages – does it hurt terribly, poppet?”

There’s a man standing just behind Harry (presumably the ‘Merlin’ he’d referred to), watching the pair with his arms crossed over his chest and wearing an expression of amused indulgence, but at Hart’s words he lets out a derisive snort.

“Aye, Harry, clearly he’s in agony,” the man mutters, his thick Scottish brogue adding a gruffness to his voice that’s belied by the fondness in his gaze.

Mr Pickle’s attention is diverted towards the Scot when he speaks, and the terrier ceases his attempts at bathing Harry’s face with his tongue and instead darts around him to jump up at the bald man’s leg, front paws braced against his knee and tongue lolling happily.

“Don’t give me that look, ya wee shit,” Merlin grumbles, but obligingly bends down to scratch behind the dog’s ears. “This whole mess is entirely your fault. You ate half the Christmas tree, what did you think was going to happen?”

“If it’s any consolation,” Eggsy pipes up, pulling the paper bag of prescriptions from his back pocket and offering them to Harry, “if he hadn’t been rushed to theatre to remove the tinsel, we never would’ve diagnosed his pancreatitis at such an early stage.”

“And this new medication he’s on, it should hopefully prevent it from worsening?” Harry reiterates, echoing part of their earlier telephone conversation.

Eggsy nods. “We’ll be askin’ you to bring him by for regular check-ups,” he acknowledges. “But unless any new symptoms spring up unexpectedly, I wouldn’t worry about it too much. Just make sure he takes his pills, an’ follows the diet sheet Roxy made for ‘im.”

Harry gives an apologetic sigh as he peers down at his pooch. “Sorry, poppet – no more biscuits for you.”

Mr Pickle, having rolled over onto his back so that Merlin can carefully tickle the unbandaged portion of his underbelly, cocks his head to one side in interest at the word ‘biscuits’, ears perking up hopefully.

“When do the sutures come out?” Merlin queries, straightening up as the terrier wriggles his way back over to Harry for further petting.

“In ten days,” Eggsy answers, and nods towards the paper prescription bag in Harry’s hand. “I’ve pencilled in an appointment for the eighth of January, but a day either side won’t hurt him – give us a ring if you need it changin’.”

Harry glances up from Mr Pickle with a hopeful sort of look in his eyes. “Will you be here on the eighth?”

Hearing Merlin mutter something that sounds suspiciously like “well _that_ was subtle”, Eggsy feels his cheeks heat a tad.

“Should be,” he answers, and is relieved that his voice sounds even and casual despite the fluttering of his heart. “Can’t guarantee I’ll be doin’ the check-up clinics with Charlie that day,” like hell he isn’t, he’ll _bribe_ the bastard with kittens if he has to, “but I’m sure we’ll see each other around.”

Shit. That had unintentionally come out a little too flirtatious, and the man’s husband is standing _right there_ (and a very nice-looking bloke he is, too), abort, abort, abort…

 “There’s painkillers in there, too,” he continues after a brief, awkward pause, cheeks heating further. “I’d probably give him those pretty regularly for the first week or so, an’ then just as an’ when he needs it after that. Try to keep his dressings dry as much as you can, but if you need ‘em changin’, just give us a call. He’s made a great recovery so far, though, so we’re not anticipatin’ any setbacks.”

Merlin nods, with a neutral sort of expression that suggests he either hadn’t noticed Eggsy casually flirting with his husband, or didn’t mind it. Eggsy’s not sure which option he’d prefer.

Harry stands with a tender sort of smile that makes warmth flare in Eggsy’s chest, and offers the youth his hand.

“I really can’t thank you enough for everything you’ve done,” the man murmurs, grasping his hand lingeringly, and Eggsy feels the thin rectangle of a business card being pressed into his palm. “Should you ever require assistance, in any capacity, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

With a final, parting nod, the man turns towards the exit, patting his thigh.

“Come along, darling.”

Mr Pickle trots after him obediently, tail wagging.

“Unwin?”

Startled at the use of his surname (he didn’t recall having ever given it to the man), Eggsy glances towards Merlin in surprise. The Scotsman sends him a soft, knowing sort of half-smile and reaches out to squeeze his shoulder.

“Don’t be a stranger, lad,” he says quietly. “And say hello to your father for me, won’t you?”

“Wha-?” Eggsy starts, but the man is already walking away, leaving him gaping at the empty doorway for several minutes before the rasping, croaky cough of a poorly parrot snaps him out of his reverie.

Eggsy peers down at the card in his hand, brows creasing a little at the vaguely familiar emblem of a large ‘K’ set within a golden ring, the words ‘ _Kingsman Tailors’_ written beneath in fancy cursive script, and flips it over to glance at the address on the back and the telephone number printed there.

Savile Row, huh? Well, that’s not _ridiculously_ far from Oxford Circus, wouldn’t take him too long if he got the tube…

No harm in dropping by for a visit, right?

 

 

.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because good!Charlie is my new addiction, I lowkey ship him with Roxy and/or Amelia (threesome material, ya'll) and there are not enough puppy-centred fics in this fandom. Also Merhartwin, because I can. ;D
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the chapter! xxx


	3. Snow Days of Yesteryear (Lee/Michelle, kid!Eggsy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brief glimpse at a happier moment from Eggsy's childhood. (Lee/Michelle, kid!Eggsy)

.

“Eggsy?” A hand settles on his shoulder, shaking him gently. “Eggsy, wake up.”

It’s dark, and he’s tired and cosy and warm, so he snuggles down under the duvet a little more with a sleepy sigh.

There’s a soft laugh, and suddenly the duvet is swept away without warning. He gives a whine of protest, reaching for the stolen bedcovers, but large hands are settling beneath his arms to scoop him up from the bed. He wraps both arms and legs around the warm, solid chest he’s drawn against, nestling his face into the soft fabric of his father’s dressing gown.

“Come on, trouble,” Lee murmurs, a smile in his voice. “I’ve got something to show you.”

Eggsy yawns, scrubbing at his tired eyes as he’s carried down the short hallway and into the lounge. His mum’s there when he glances up, sitting in the armchair next to the Christmas tree, wrapped in a fluffy white dressing gown and cradling a mug between her hands.

“S’breakfast time?” Eggsy asks, his voice slurring sleepily.

Michelle’s smile is two parts warmth, ten parts exhaustion. “Not yet, babe. Technically it’s _still_ bedtime, but your daddy’s an overgrown ten-year-old an’ always gets ‘imself excited over a bit of snow.”

But her voice is fond despite the look she levels at her husband.

“Snow?” Eggsy echoes, all traces of his previous fatigue vanishing in an instant. “It’s snowin’?”

“It was,” his father answers, and kneels up on the sofa to pull back the curtain, allowing Eggsy to peek out at the winter wonderland beyond.

A perfect blanket of snow covers absolutely _everything,_ undisturbed except for a few paw-prints from a cat or a fox down in the courtyard. The sky’s still dark outside, with a faint browny-purple tint that means dawn’s not far off, but the light from the streetlamps shines off the snow and makes it look a whole lot brighter.

Eggsy beams excitedly, twisting in his dad’s hold to press his hands against the cold glass of the window. “Can we go outside an’ play? Please, please, _pleeease?”_

Lee chuckles and drops a kiss against his hair. “Course we can, mate.”

“ _After_ breakfast,” Michelle insists, and smiles when they turn to her with matching puppy-eyed expressions. “Don’t gimme that look, Lee Unwin. It ain’t even six yet, an’ he’s still in his pyjamas. Give ‘im time to wake up first, babe.”

“I’m awake!” Eggsy insists, squirming down from the sofa and dashing over to his mum, plastering himself to her front as she quickly sets aside her mug of tea. “I’m really, really awake, promise! Not even a little bit sleepy.”

“There you go,” Lee says, coming over to perch on the arm of the chair, smiling down at the pair of them. “You heard the man. He’s really, really awake, ‘chelle.”

Michelle stays unmoving for all of two seconds before heaving a resigned sigh and poking Lee in the ribs. “Alright. But twenny minutes is all you’re gettin’, I don’t want him catchin’ cold. An’ _thermals,_ both of you.”

Eggsy giggles as he’s abruptly scooped from his mother’s lap.

“Roger that, Captain.” Lee plonks Eggsy over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry and marches from the room. “Come on, soldier. Let’s get your kit on.”

Ten minutes later and the five-year-old is breathless with laughter and exertion, pink-cheeked and soaking wet, uncaring of the way his skin prickles from the cold as he carefully forms another snowball.

“Who turned out the lights?” Lee demands, his woollen hat pulled down over his eyes. He takes a few stumbling steps across the courtyard, his arms pin-wheeling clumsily. “Eggsy? You better not be planning an ambush, you rascal.”

Biting into his scarf to muffle his giggling, Eggsy carefully picks up his armful of snowballs and scoots around from behind the postbox, flinging his ammunition with all his might. Two go wide, but the third and fourth hit Lee dead-centre in his stomach, exploding into a shower of white crystals.

“Ohhh, and he’s down!” His father drops to his knees, clutching a hand to his sternum. “Betrayed by my own son! Aarggh…”

The man flops forwards face-down in the snow, dramatically spread-eagled, and lays still. Laughing hard enough to make himself sick, Eggsy runs over to jump on top of him.

“I win! I win!”

The man lets out a wheezy grunt upon impact, then abruptly flips to one side to tumble Eggsy into the snow, sitting up on his knees and attacking his ribs with dancing fingers, sending the boy into another fit of giggles.

Something white collides with the side of Lee’s head, showering Eggsy with icy dust. The man glances up in shock, eyes wide.

“Oi, pick on someone your own size!” Michelle calls, drawing her arm back again, pyjamas peaking out from beneath her puffy coat. “Eggsy, run babe!”

Lee lets out a surprised, delighted laugh, reeling back as he’s struck by another snowball. Eggsy scrambles out from underneath him and runs for cover, crouching down behind the postbox again and watching with a wide grin as his parents proceed to pelt each other with snow.

It’s a good hour before any of them head back inside for breakfast.

 

. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter this time, but 'short and sweet' was the order of the morning. I fully intend to one day write a long AU wherein Lee doesn't die and Eggsy has a good, happy life without the abuse and hardships thrust upon him in the wake of his father's death. Because that boy needs a break sometimes, am I right? (Especially from me, I put him through so much shit in my fics. :/ )
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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